


Titles Mean Nothing

by Aithilin



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:22:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6643006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a few worlds where Fai still uses his old titles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Titles Mean Nothing

Fai was a prince. There were very few worlds that reminded Kurogane of that fact. At least, reminded him as it should— revealed Fai as graceful and diplomatic, honourable and stately. There were very few worlds where Fai stared down nobles and kings who meant them harm and dealt with the matter like a prince of an ice world. There were few worlds where Fai, dressed for his station, seemed right at home charming kings and queens, princes and princesses, with carefully chosen compliments and smiles to give their worse-for-wear little family what it needed. 

There were fewer worlds still when Fai’s natural bearing got them out of trouble. 

When Sakura travelled with them, it had been her that everyone flocked to. Everyone recognised her as nobility (or should be nobility)— with her manner and sweetness and entourage of protective men— Sakura’s natural luck and charm had brought them to castles and palaces and endeared them to rulers who had what they needed to keep going. 

Without Sakura, it was harder to convince strangers that they meant no harm. 

“This is my servant,” Fai would say, a hand resting on Syaoran’s shoulder— the boy owl-eyed and nervous in the presence of a king whose men he had just beaten. “An academic, but very dear to me.”

It was all the explanation that would be needed as Fai bowed only to the ruler of the realm (sometimes not even then— to the queens and duchesses, princesses and ladies, certainly— not when he knew that his rank was higher, and it only took a few words to convince others of that). He would never name the kings of Valeria or Celes, never name the countries he was titled to. But he carried himself in the manner expected. 

“My kingdom is small, and cold,” Fai would say once invited to lunch or dinner or tea. Once their host was curious and plied by food and Fai’s charm. “Very cold, really.”

“But you’re not there,” The king would respond. “You’re travelling, or in exil—”

“No, no. Nothing so sad.” And Fai’s smile would warm the room and allay fears— he was no criminal fleeing a kingdom that hated him for corruption or murder. “Just my own whim, I’m afraid. I’m a very bad prince.”

Sometimes he was seeking to collect stories— some silly notion in his head but supported by Syaoran’s expertise. Sometime he was fleeing brigands or a coup back home— depending on the nature of the realm they had stumbled into. Sometime he was seeking shelter from war, or searching for trading partners; sometimes studying arts, or war. All noble pursuits for a prince. All easily accepted by the rulers and their staff they needed things from. 

There were very few worlds where Kurogane saw that side of Fai— that command and charm. The courtly manoeuvres and delicate manners. The way Fai could blend in so easily and so readily. 

Kurogane knew how he looked then— the protecting knight, the bodyguard, the servant at the ready with a sword. He also knew how to act when Fai was charming a room with the stories he could spin, he had done the same now as he had when he stood behind Tomoyo in Japan. 

He had stood quiet and glaring then too, while Tomoyo greeted nobles who had sent assassins the night before. While she sat with her ladies and spoke about the festivals and harvests and all the things that Kurogane only had a vague awareness of— speaking of things on a much larger scale than he remembered from growing up in Suwa. 

So he did the same now, while Fai charmed and spoke and lied to the kings and queens who could help them move on their way. 

Kurogane preferred the worlds where Fail laughed and played, threw strange fruits at him to catch in bustling markets where no one cared so long as they paid for what they took. He preferred the worlds where Fai didn’t carry himself stiffly or smiled so calmly while veiled insults were thrown at him. He preferred worlds where Fai laughed at his side as he carried a full quiver and magic on his fingertips— as they danced across a battlefield or stalked their dinner in a forest (Fai inevitable ruining any clean shots Kurogane could take).

Kurogane preferred the worlds where Fai was his, and his alone. Where there was no time spent with nobles who didn’t care if Fai’s smile was real, or if his laugh was just a polite reaction. 

Worlds where he was not presented like a servant, or a prince in his own right. Worlds where Fai doomed him to the same stiffness and polite conversation, the same stories and lies Fai would have to drape over them like his magic. Worlds where Kurogane was forced to recall the lessons in diplomacy his mother taught him, or the careful banter his father taught him (and he was certain his parents would both be laughing at him as he tried to keep up with Fai’s quick words). 

“You are a prince” Kurogane would mutter in far more worlds than he thought he would. It was muttered against Fai’s lips and skin— growled against a too-pale throat as he kept Fai from wriggling away in worlds where Fai could laugh and smile and steal kisses as he wanted. 

“How can you tell?” Fai would laugh and tease, sneaking away from Kurogane’s sure grasp.

“Because you’re a damned brat.” Regardless of the world, Kurogane would make another grab, reach again to catch the man who teased him. 

Regardless of the way Fai presented himself, present Kurogane and Syaoran— regardless of the truth wrapped in lies, or stories built to charm the noble hosts— that one thing would always stay the same. 

Even if Fai presented himself as a prince, a king, the ruler of lost kingdoms— even if he told their hosts that Kurogane was his equal, a prince of a war-torn land, a warlord in his own right— that one thing never changed:

Kurogane would always catch Fai again, would see that smile and hear that laugh that was so different than the ones presented to strangers sat in cavernous halls. He would pull Fai close with a grin and his own teasing words, his threats and curses just stoking Fai’s own teasing. 

And in the last world where Fai would have to be presented as a noble, where Kurogane was a warlord protecting farms and harvests from encroaching nobles too used to Suwa lying quiet and abandoned. A world where Fai was still floating through a court and diplomacy with a smile and navigating a world that was not his own with stories of ice and cold and exiles. 

A world where Kurogane would drag him away from the fuss over his colours and foreign charms with a grumbled threat. Back to their own quiet kingdom, where Fai would grin and laugh and chase Kurogane around gardens and fields and their own people would smile at their own rulers. 

“Get back here, you brat!”

“That’s prince, Kuro-sama!”


End file.
